A True Seer
by Pelahnar
Summary: Sybill Trelawney is not what you might think. She's smart, she's cunning - she went to Slytherin and belonged there. But most important of all, she knew things. She had information that she trusted with no one during the war. But now, it's time to share.
1. My Story

_My name is Sybill Trelawney. _

_I am the Divination teacher at Hogwarts and I have been for the past 18 years. _

_Despite my reputation as a fraud, I am a true Seer. _

_I am the Seer that foretold the coming of the Dark Lord, the one who named himself Voldemort. _

_I am the Seer who prophesied his return to power four years ago._

_I am the Seer who – though I told no one, not even Harry Potter – predicted the end of the war this summer._

_This is my story, which until now, none but me has ever known._

**A/N: This is an idea that's been tickling the back of my mind for a few months now. I shouldn't start another story right now, I know, when I'm supposed be working on There Was a Girl but...I wanted to see how something like this would be received. (This is the prologue, by the way, the rest of the chapters will be longer.)**

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine. Neither is Sybill Trelawney.**

**Please review!**


	2. To be Understood

**A/N: I named Sybill's mother 'Patricia' because I read somewhere that that was her middle name. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. **

**Chapter 1: To be Understood**

"You are going to die."

The girl's eyes widened, as did those of everyone around her. "Soon." She added in a whisper, the word being forced from her lips without permission. The woman she was speaking to gasped. It was a middle-aged witch, not old – certainly not old enough to die of old age in any time period that could be labeled 'soon.' This woman brushed her long, barely-graying hair out of her face brusquely. She was trying to get her composure back; the girl could tell.

"Don't be ridiculous, girl!" She laughed after a slight paused. "And don't joke about such things!" The sudden tone change from mirth to firm was disconcerting.

"But I -!"

"No buts." The woman held up her hand and the girl stopped speaking mid-word. She couldn't understand why she'd given her prediction in the first place - it had spoken itself, without her permission. Trying to explain that was impossible; trying to defend the accidental statement's legitimacy, doubly so."It's all right, everyone! Go back to your business." The small crowd that her – undeniably loud – pronouncement had gathered now dispersed, some shaking their heads. _It's only Sybill. _They were thinking. _Sybill the failed Seer_.

It wasn't true. Even as a ten-year-old, Sybill knew her gift to be true. The fact that this – _you are going to die_ – was her first prediction of any significance – at any rate, one of the few that was clear – that didn't mean she wasn't a real Seer. When she'd told her friend George to 'look forward to rainbows', surely he had eventually realized this was actually predicting his scholarship to Beauxbatons? When she said that 'two fours and heat shouldn't mix' – wasn't this just another way to warn of the fire that destroyed the primary school on April 4th? In hindsight, at least, Sybill found her predictions to be perfectly clear – there was supposedly gold at the end of rainbows and April was the fourth month of the year. It made sense.

Sybill realized the power of her words, even if no one else did. _She_ felt the truth on her lips as she spoke them and _she_ saw how they turned out – even if no one else would admit it. No, Sybill did _not_ know what her predictions meant when she made them. Even her great-great-grandmother Cassandra - the great Seer - had not always known the meanings of what she Saw.

"Sybill," her mother tugged on her hand, trying to pull her away from the unfortunate witch who would – Sybill knew this, she _would_ – die before her time, but the ten-year-old was still staring at the older woman. Confusion and hesitation entered the stranger's expression as she gazed into those large eyes . Slowly, Sybill nodded once. It's true, she implored silently. Believe it. "_Sybill_!" This time, Patricia Trelawney was successful in breaking her daughter's eye contact with the subject of her latest prediction.

"What have I told you about this, Sybill? Making these 'predictions'?" Patricia cried exasperatedly as they hurried away.

Sybill rolled her eyes. "Not to. But I didn't mean to, it just popped out!" Her mother shook her head and didn't answer. Parents, Sybill knew from years of experience, weren't exempt from the 'not listening to kids when I know better' thing that all adults had. She sighed heavily several times on the silent walk home.

Back in her bedroom, Sybill pulled out her journal and began to write. Most of the words didn't make anything like sensible sentences– occasionally they were just jumbles of letters, but Sybill didn't care. All she wanted was to allow the things in her head – she presumed they were predictions, waiting to form – to get out.

Eventually, her quill slowed. Flipping through it, Sybill saw that she'd fill nearly ten pages of the journal, just at this one setting. "You knew this would happen, Sybill," she told herself firmly. "You didn't write yesterday, and today it overflowed."

Sighing once more, Sybill sat back. It was strange, how her Second Sight worked. Sometimes, she would just know something, sometimes pictures would form in front of her eyes, and sometimes random words would connect in her head and she had to blurt them out – like she had today. It helped to write in the journal. That helped her from 'overflowing' as she called it, and accidentally saying something out loud.

Closing her eyes and yanking on a strand of frizzy brown hair, Sybill remembered a prediction she'd made at four years old:

"_Don't fall, Jason!" she screamed, a picture of the boy in her playgroup tumbling down a flight of stairs running through her head. "You'll break your arm!"_

_Jason, at the time balancing on a curb, shouted back, "Break my arm? That's stupid!" He lost his balance for a moment and had to step down. "See? I fell - no broken arm!"_

_Half an hour later, Jason tripped while running down the steps to meet his mother and broke his arm. "She made me! She made me! She said I would and I did!" This, he yelled through pain as they took him to the emergency room, pointing right at Sybill. _

_She shrunk back from the accusing finger. It was remembering this incident that caused her – once she was eight, old enough to even understand what a Seer was – to decide that she'd never speak her predictions out loud._

_After all, what if they weren't just predictions? What if saying them caused them to happen, just like Jason said it had?_

Sybill shook herself and came back to the present. She'd never quite convinced herself that the foretellings were not the cause of what they said. After all, if they were – did that mean she had effectively killed that woman, by letting those words escape? She suppressed a shiver.

She looked down at the journal that still lay open in her lap, pondering the question. There was no way of knowing whether the jumbles on the page would've eventually become prophesies or whether the things they foretold would happen whether she knew them or not.

No way of knowing.

She flipped through the pages again. Every so often, a fully formed word or phrase would catch her attention and she'd stare at it, trying to find a hidden meaning. Nothing. Absolutely _nothing_! Angrily, Sybill flipped the notebook upside down and turned to the back – it was where she kept conscious thoughts.

'Why?' She scribbled at the end of her most recent entry. 'What's the point of this? Why was I given the gift of Sight if I can't use it? If the prophesies will come true no matter what, why bother having them? If they aren't going to believe me anyway, why bother telling them? Why? _Why?_'

Sybill filled another few pages of her notebook with nothing except that one word – why. Finally, she finished with, 'I'm going to need a new notebook soon. Very soon.'

"Sybill!" The girl jumped at her mother's voice. "Come down for dinner!"

"Yes, mu -" Sybill broke off. "Just a minute, mum!" She called back down the stairs. Something on the last page of 'Why?' had caught her attention – just two words, but they weren't 'why', so they stood out.

_Harry Potter_

"Who's Harry Potter?" She wondered aloud. She grabbed a quill to write the question, in the hopes that her Sight would subconsciously supply the answer, but her mum chose that moment to call her again, more insistently this time. "Coming!" She yelled. Then she circled the name, underlined it twice, and hurried down.

Sybill ate as fast as she could, eager to return to her journal and try to force more information about this name that had so oddly appeared in the middle of her conscious journal writing. That was mostly why she'd been so intrigued by it – usually, when she was actually thinking about what she was writing, no predictions overflowed onto the paper. A good thing, too, otherwise she'd have some explaining to do to her primary school teachers.

"Honey?" Sybill didn't look up, so focused was she on finishing the food on her plate. "Sybill – Sybill look at me."

Reluctantly, Sybill set down her fork and looked up. "Yes?"

"I need to talk to you. About this 'Seer' game that you play." Sybill had never seen her mother look so serious.

"Mum, it's not a game -" She started to protest.

"I don't care, Sybill." Her mum said sharply, cutting her off. She continued in a softer tone. "I really don't care whether your predictions are real or not – to tell you the truth, I hope they aren't, especially after today." Sybill remember telling that woman she was going to die and gulped, nodding. "Your great-great-grandmother was a Seer, as I'm sure you know. Do not make the mistake of thinking that she was happy with her gift – or her curse, as she called it, later in life. Knowing the future is not an easy thing, dear."

Sybill knew this – to some degree – already. However, she was shocked to discover that her mother understood. "But – but what can I do about it? I _do_ make real predictions, mum. I can't help it."

"I don't think there's anything you _can_ do. You have a gift, Sybill. You can't give it back." Her mother smiled sympathetically. "I'm sorry, sweetie -"

"No! I don't want your sympathy, mum! I want to be normal, I want to … to …" Sybill felt tears creeping into her eyes. What did she want? Whatever the answer was, it wouldn't come to her lips.

"There is something that I think you can do for others, though." Patricia said. "You're starting at Hogwarts in three months - you can hide your gift from the other students there, and never let them know what you do. You can let people – like that poor witch you confronted earlier – live their lives in ignorant bliss of the future."

For a long moment, Sybill didn't say anything, just stared at her lap. Then she stood slowly and said, "May I be excused?"

"Of course."

Sybill returned to her room, her mum's words circling through her head. _There's nothing you can do. Let them live their lives in ignorance. I don't care if it's real. She's wasn't happy with her gift, her curse._

Taking quill in hand once more, Sybill began to write:

'I don't want your sympathy, mum. I want to be normal. I don't want to See the future. I want to live in ignorance. I want to live without the fear that I'm the cause of their misfortunes, because I predicted them. That's the true curse. The uncertainty. Did I kill that woman? Did I break Jason's arm? I don't know. And that's my curse.'

Why did the words that she hadn't been able to speak before come so easily to the paper now? She was glad, though, that she hadn't been able to tell her mother what she really wanted. Her true fears, that she didn't foretell that something would happen, but actually caused it. Her mother could live, blissfully ignorant of that fear.

Still … Sybill leaned back in her chair and a smile played at her lips. Even if she couldn't tell her mum everything that she wanted, still, it was nice to know that her mother realized – partially, anyway – what she was going through. Sybill had never thought anyone understood.

It was a nice feeling.

**A/N: Please review!**


	3. Paranoia

**Chapter 3: Paranoia**

Sybill opened her eyes, blinking in the realization that she'd fallen asleep in her chair. Glancing at the clock, she was shocked to find that it was after midnight. She sat up, stifling a yawn. Her journal was still open on her lap and as Sybill began to close it so she could go to bed, she saw something that made her freeze.

That name – Harry Potter – was _glowing_. She closed her eyes and opened them again. Still glowing. "Weird." She whispered and waved a hand experimentally over the shining letters. To her surprise, the light didn't illuminate her fingers at all, despite being plenty bright enough. "Maybe it's not really glowing then." Sybill mused aloud. "Maybe it's my Sight, telling me to pay attention to it."

All thoughts of sleep banished from her head, Sybill lit a candle and picked up her quill. 'Who is Harry Potter? Is he important? Why is his name glowing?' She wrote quickly.

Sybill quickly reread what she had written and found that there was another word on the page right after the second question:

_Obviously._

Sybill growled. Apparently, her subconscious had a very dry sense of humor. She decided to try again. 'Why? What's important about him? Who is he anyway?' This time there was no answer. With another groan, she angrily slammed the journal shut and threw it onto her desk. It lay there, looking like nothing more than an innocent green book.

_Innocent_? Sybill wondered. Why had she thought that? Was there some reason her journal _shouldn't _be innocent? "Whatever," she muttered and yawned again, the tiredness that had fled before suddenly returning. She stood, crossed the room to her bed, and collapsed into it still fully dressed. Despite her exhaustion though, she had trouble falling asleep. The name that had inexplicably appeared in her unconscious journal writing kept floating through her head. An _important_ name. An _obviously_ important name. Important enough to glow at midnight.

She tossed and turned all night, never quite managing to get any real rest. She gave up on sleep eventually and got up at six.

"Mum?" She said as she reached the living room where Patricia was reading.

"Yes? Have you thought about what I told you last night?"

Sybill hesitated. "Some, yeah. You were right. But ... er … what I really wanted to ask though – have you ever heard of anyone named Harry Potter?"

"Harry Potter? No." Patricia answered. "This isn't another prediction, is it?"

"Well, maybe. I don't really know anything about him – just that he's important." Sybill was surprised at herself. Only the morning before – the afternoon before, even – she'd never have dreamed of telling her mother this much about something she'd written in the journal. She would never have even mentioned it. "His name glowed."

"What?"

"In my journal, his name … glowed. It lit up on the page. Like someone was shining a lit wand from the back, except it didn't light up my hand, just the page." She said. "It's important."

Patricia frowned. "Is it still like that? Can I see it?" She asked, curious.

But Sybill did not hear innocent interest. She breathed in sharply, heartbeat increasing. Had she been holding the journal, she would've hugged it – as it was, she drew her arms around herself instead. For a few seconds, her mouth moved soundlessly and her throat refused to work. Finally, she said loudly, "No! No, you can't!"

Her mother looked surprised. "All right – if you don't want to show it to me, that's fine. No need to be so defensive."

Sybill gulped and nodded, forcing herself to smile. "Sorry," she whispered. "I'm going … uh – yeah, I'll just ..." She trailed off and ran to the stairs, taking them two at a time until she was safely back in her room, door closed and locked.

She crossed to her desk in one bound and grabbed the journal and embraced it. "I'll never let anyone else see you, I promise. I'll never her tell her another thing that's written in you, I'll -" She suddenly realized that tears were pouring from her eyes. A few seconds later, she realized that her promises to the journal were just that – _promises_ to a _journal. _Laughing a little at herself, she set down the journal and dried her eyes.

Still smiling at her own moment of madness, Sybill sat down and picked up a quill. _I wonder what _that_ was about! _She wrote. _Of course mum wouldn't read my journal without permission! Why did I feel like that – like she was ordering me to give it up or wanting to read it for some sinister reason? Mum wouldn't do that!_

_Equally as confusing is the tears and hugs – not to mention _promises_ – for the journal. _

_But that moment, when mum asked to see it, nothing else seemed to matter. All I could think about was keeping it 'safe'. Maybe I'm subconsciously worried that someone's going to steal it and read all my private thoughts (and my unformed predictions, though they wouldn't get much from those). Maybe it's just paranoia. _

_Except I _am_ a Seer. Maybe it's not paranoia, but the Sight telling me that I should beware anyone who wants to read the journal. Maybe someone _is_ going to steal it, or try to, someday. _

_I wish my Sight were less cryptic._

Less cryptic, or nonexistent, Sybill added to herself, but she'd didn't write it down. For one thing, she felt bad about wishing that a part of herself didn't exist. But also, she'd put so many predictions into the journal it would feel like betrayal to tell it that she wished she didn't have to. Like she was insulting it, or something. She closed the book gently and stroked it's cover – sometimes, she wondered whether there wasn't more to her journal than leather and parchment.

Sybill was pulled from her reverie by a tap on the door. "Honey? Are you ok?"

"Yes. I'm fine." She called back. After a moment of hesitation, she unlocked and opened the door, forcing herself to smile. "Mum? You know how my birthday's next week? Can I have a new journal?"

Her mum raised her eyebrows. "Dear, you can have a new journal anytime you want. Why for your birthday? Birthday presents are supposed to be special."

"Well, yes..." Sybill nervously glanced back at her desk, where the journal still sat. This felt like betrayal too. "But this time, I'd like a magic one. One that will lock itself and no one but me can read." She finished speaking quickly, hoping it didn't sound like an accusation.

Patricia nodded slowly. "All right. We can get one when we go to Diagon Alley to get your school things." Sybill smiled – this time for real – and her mother turned to leave, then stopped. "You know I wouldn't read your journal without permission, right? You'd just mentioned that name and I - "

"I understand, mum. But kids at school might and I don't want them to. It's private."

The morning of her birthday, Sybill woke early and smiled. It was going to be a good day – her Sight told her so.

The first good thing that happened, though it wasn't unexpected, was the tap on her window as soon as she sat up. Grinning, she bounded across the room and let in the owl holding her Hogwarts acceptance letter.

"Thank you," she told the owl, taking the heavy envelope. Before even opening it, she grabbed the prepared response – saying that she would, of course, be attending – from her desk and gave it to the owl. He hooted once and flapped away. Sybill then ripped open her letter. "Dear Miss Trelawney, we are pleased to inform you..." she began to read its contents out loud. Still reading, she made her way downstairs. "...Yours sincerely, Minerva McGonagall." She'd reached the kitchen. "Well mum, it would seem like I'm a witch."

Patricia glanced up from making breakfast. "Oh? Are you surprised?"

"Not all that particularly." Sybill laughed. Even if it weren't for her Sight, she'd been doing accidental spells almost since they day she was born. "Why? Are you?"

"Happy birthday, sweetie."

When an eleven-year-old got their Hogwarts' letter was, traditionally, the first time they got to go to Diagon Alley. This tradition was not set in stone and broken fairly often – usually when a child had an older brother or sister, starting before them – but Sybill herself had never been there. The trip was, as far as she was concerned, as much of a birthday treat as she needed.

She had, before the trip, filled as many pages of her journal with her jumbled thought as she could – plus a few extra with random things. Today, she was determined to act like a child who was excited to go to Hogwarts (she _was, _after all, exactly that_)_ without the burden of wondering whether something would go wrong because she let a prediction slip. This was all ridiculous, of course. Her Sight had already _told_ her it would be a good day. Nothing was going to ruin it.

Still, no harm in taking precautions.

"Mum, come _on_!" Sybill cried. They were in the pub that served as the entrance to Diagon Alley, The Leaky Cauldron, and Patricia seemed all too intent to have a long conversation with the bartender, Tom. Long, by Sybill's current definition, meant 'more than hello and goodbye.' She waved impatiently toward the back door. "My school shopping awaits!"

"Whatever happened to the good old days when kids didn't _want_ school to start?" Patricia asked Tom with a laugh. He only shook his head, grinning. "All right, let's go then." Her mother pulled out her wand and tapped the special brick to open the wall to Diagon Alley.

**A/N: It is official - you can never trust what I say about updates. Never. Never listen to me ever, ever again because I obviously don't know what I'm talking about. Ok, so sorry about the long wait. I won't tell you that the next one will have a shorter one, because you won't be able to trust me on that anyway, but I'll try. Hopefully the chapter itself will be longer, since this is pretty short. Anyway, thanks to all who reviewed, put on alert, and favorited!**

**Just as some general info about the story: It's supposed to be canon, as a description of why she did what she did and acted the way she did. No changes to the actual storyline are foreseen (but she's the Seer, not me, so who knows). Since the books never really give her an age, I have placed her in the Marauder Era - it's convenient. She's the same age as Harry's parents, which is on the young side, I know but I don't care. (I also don't care if Pottermore has given more information on her, so if it has, don't expect me to change the story to fit it)**

**I think that's it. Please review!**


End file.
